A Vow of Glory

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Gwendolyn stood atop the highest parapet in Silesia, her generals around her, watching the horizon. They had just finished a tour of all the inner and outer rings of defenses, and one by one, Srog, Kendrick, Brom, Kolk and the generals had discussed with Gwendolyn how best to fortify each one, what to expect when the army arrived, how to defend attacks from multiple fronts, and how long it would take until their defenses collapsed. They had talked about food and provisions and water, had talked about contingency plans, about retreating to the lower city. They had covered nearly everything, and they were all exhausted.

What none of them had discussed was what they would do in case of a defeat. It was unspoken amongst them that surrender was not an option, but none had discussed the inevitable: what to do if all their men were killed. It was unspoken amongst them that they would all fight to the death. In some ways, it felt as if they were all settling in for what would be a mass suicide.

Hours had passed, and with all their men in position, all the plans thought through, there was nothing left to discuss. Now they all stood there, comfortable in each other’s silence, watching the horizon, the dark storm clouds forming, waiting for the inevitable. As Gwen looked out, it seemed so peaceful, so calm; it seemed as if Andronicus’ men would never come.

Yet she knew they were coming. All day long, reports had come in from messengers from all over the Ring updating her on the invasion. There even arrived a report that King’s Court had been attacked—and that was the report that hurt the most. She tried to blot the image from her mind.

Now, more than ever, Gwen wished Thor were here. Argon’s fateful words rang in her head, and she did not understand what they meant. She knew she would have to die a little death to make up for saving Thor’s life. Did that mean she would actually die? Here, in this place? She closed her eyes and thought of the baby in her belly and tried not to think of death. Not because she feared her own death. But because she feared for her baby’s life; and she feared a life without Thor.

There was a stir, and Gwendolyn turned and looked over the men’s shoulders to see a small entourage of soldiers coming their way—and her eyes opened wide in surprise as she saw who they were accompanying. There, marching towards her, was a woman she thought she’d never lay eyes upon again: her sister.

Luanda walked hand-in-hand with her new husband, Bronson, who, Gwen was saddened to see, was missing a hand. They both looked tattered, broken, and beyond exhausted; they looked as if they had been riding all night.

Gwen could not understand what they were doing here. She was relieved to see them, but also confused. Wasn’t Bronson a McCloud, and shouldn’t he be on the McCloud side of the Ring? And Luanda with him?

Gwen was so relieved to see her sister alive, safe, her first impulse was to step forward and give her a hug. But growing up, their relationship had always been at arm’s length, formal; it was Luanda’s doing—she got that from their mother. Gwendolyn had tried one too many times to get close to her, and after enough rebuffs, she had learned her lesson. So Gwen simply stood there, facing her older sister, and nodded back gravely.

“My sister,” Luanda said, as Bronson bowed his head.

Gwendolyn nodded back.

“Brother,” Luanda added, turning and nodding to Kendrick, who nodded back, silent, probably as confused as Gwendolyn was. He seemed to tense up at the sight of a McCloud near him, as did the other soldiers.

“What are you doing here?” Gwendolyn asked.

“I made a grave mistake,” Luanda said, “in going to the McCloud side of the Ring. Not a mistake in marrying Bronson, who I love dearly, and who is nothing like the others. The other McClouds are brutal, savage people. His father tried to kill both myself and his own son.”

There came a surprised gasp from amongst Gwen’s people, and she examined Bronson and saw the severed hand, the scars; she could tell he had been through hell, yet he stood there proudly. There was something about him that she liked; he seemed nothing like his father, who was a real brute, who Gwendolyn remembered with distaste.

“The McClouds don’t change,” Kendrick piped in. “They are who they are. They always have been.”

“You are lucky to have escaped with your life,” Brom added.

“We have come to ask you for help,” Luanda said, looking from Kendrick to Srog to Brom—to anyone but Gwendolyn. “We ask you to take us in. We were told that the worthy half of King’s Court had fled here. We want to defect from the McCloud side of the Ring. We want to be with the MacGils.”

“To fight with the MacGils,” Bronson added proudly. “I will swear my loyalty to you. I will fight to the death for you. Especially against my father and his men.”

Gwendolyn and the others exchanged a glance, and she could see the hesitation in their eyes.

“And how do we know we can trust you?” Brom asked, stepping forward and staring McCloud down coldly. “Your father killed more of my men then I can count. And all in a brutal and cowardly way. How do we know the son is not like the father? How do we know this is not all a trap, that you are not merely waiting to betray us?”

Bronson slowly raised his arm, displaying the stump where his hand once was.

“This is my father’s work,” he said grimly. “What was once between us is no longer. I would gladly be first to kill him in battle.”

Brom stared back, as if summing him up, and finally seemed to believe him.

Gwendolyn believed him, too. He seemed to be an honest and sincere man.

“You are family,” Gwen said to Luanda, breaking the silence. She turned to Bronson. “And that means you are family now, too. If she loves you, that is good enough for me. We accept you with open arms.”

Bronson nodded back, his eyes flooding with appreciation.

“Andronicus will soon attack, and we will be in for a siege,” Gwendolyn warned. “We will need every hand we can get.”

“I am honored to fight for your cause, my lady,” Bronson said.

Luanda gave Gwendolyn a puzzled look.

“Who is in charge here?” Luanda asked, looking from face to face. “With Gareth in King’s Court, I presume that leaves you, Kendrick? Or is it you, Srog?”

All the others exchanged confused glances; Gwen realized that no one had told Luanda yet.

“Our sister is now ruler of the Western Kingdom of the Ring,” Kendrick answered.

“Gwendolyn?” Luanda said derisively, disbelieving. She looked Gwen up and down, shocked. “You? Ruler?”

“It was our father’s dying wish,” Kendrick said firmly.

“But…but,” Luanda began flustered. “You are a woman. And my younger sister, besides. If one of us should rule, then why would it not be me?”

Gwen felt the old childhood rush of anger towards Luanda rise up within her. Her entire life, as long as she could remember, her sister had been deathly jealous of her. Clearly, nothing had changed.

“My Lady,” Steffen interjected.

Luanda looked down at Steffen with surprise and condescension.

“Pardon me?” she said.

Steffen stepped forward, frowning.

“You will address Gwendolyn, who is now our queen, as ‘my lady,’” he said, defensive.

Luanda looked down at him in surprise, then looked at the set faces of the others and realized he was serious. She looked at Gwen with consternation.

“You don’t seriously expect me to have to answer to my younger sister?” Luanda asked, turning to Kendrick.

“You will answer to her,” Kendrick said darkly, “if you wish to stay here. Or, if you wish, you can leave the gates of Silesia, and be at the mercy of the enemy. You will respect our late father’s wish, as the rest of us do.”

Bronson reached over and laid a hand on Luanda’s wrist.

“Luanda,” he said softly, “your sister has been most kind and generous to accept us here. I see no reason why we should not answer to her.”

But Luanda’s eyes flashed with defiance and ambition, as they always had.

“Father always made bad decisions,” Luanda seethed. “This is how we got into this mess to begin with. Do you really think that you, of all people, are capable of ruling this people?” she asked Gwendolyn. “Don’t you feel ashamed to even try? Won’t you feel terribly guilty if you fail, if you lead them all to their deaths?”

“We are all heading towards our deaths anyway, Luanda,” Gwendolyn said calmly. “The question is not if we die. It’s how we live. And yes, to answer your question, I am capable of leading this people,” she said, a new strength rise within her, actually feeling capable for the first time, now that she was defending herself. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. As Kendrick said, if you don’t like it, our gates are open for you to leave.”

Luanda flushed, turned, and stormed away.

Bronson stood there, shifting, clearly embarrassed.

“I am sorry for her,” he said. “I am sure she does not mean it. We have been through an ordeal.”

“She does mean it,” Gwendolyn said. “She has always meant it. That’s who she is.”

Bronson lowered his head.

“I, for one, am most deeply grateful for your having us here. I will speak with her. She will come around.”

Bronson quickly bowed, and hurried after her.

There was a sudden commotion down below, and Gwen looked down over the parapets to see a woman come running up to the gates, hysterical. Two guards tried to hold her back, and she screamed, flailing, trying to push past them.

“Let me pass!” she shrieked. “You must let me pass! I must see the Queen!”

“Let her through,” Gwendolyn called down.

The guards turned and looked up at her and released their grip on the woman.

As soon as they did, she ran through the gates and up the spiral stone staircase, right for Gwendolyn, weaving through the group of soldiers, crying. She stopped before her, knelt and lowered her head. The woman was sobbing and shaking, and Gwendolyn’s heart broke; she reached down, and gently helped pull the woman up.

“You needn’t kneel before me,” Gwen said compassionately.

“My lady,” the woman heaved, between sobs. “You must help me! You must! Please!”

“What is it that troubles you?” Gwen asked.

“My village—it has been evacuated. They say the Empire is coming. Everyone ran. But my daughters are back there, in the House of the Sick. They cannot walk. I could not carry them with me—and the others left too quickly. I have no one to help me. Please! They are my babies!”

Gwen’s heart broke inside, hardly able to comprehend this woman’s suffering.

“We are hearing similar reports from across the Ring, of villages being raided,” Srog said.

“I am sorry,” Gwendolyn said to her. “And what would you have us do?”

“Please, send your men, before it’s too late. Fetch my daughters, bring them here. I can’t imagine their dying all alone, at the hands of those savages. It’s too cruel.”

“We might all die here, too,” Kolk said.

“If they are to die, let them at least die here, with me,” the woman said. “Don’t them die alone out there. Please. You are a woman—you understand. You must help me!”

The woman reached out and grabbed Gwendolyn’s hand roughly, and Steffen stepped forward and threw her hand off.

“Do not lay your hands on our Queen,” Steffen rebuked, standing between them.

“It’s okay,” Gwendolyn said.

She reached up and stroked the woman’s hair.

“This woman has been made mad by her grief,” Gwen continued. “I understand the touch of grief, all too well.”

Gwen thought of her father, and kept back tears.

“I empathize for your daughters,” Gwen said. “I really do. But you must also understand that we are receiving reports of villages being pillaged, people murdered, from all corners of the Ring, and that we cannot spare our men to send out to each and every one. We are also in the final stages of securing our gates and locking down this city, for the good of all the Silesians and the remainder of King’s Court, and the thousands of lives here. We need every hand we have. Most of all, if we were to send a party out there now, for your girls now, they would not make it back alive. The Empire is too close at this point. Our men would die, and your girls would die with them.”

Gwendolyn sighed. She hated having to make these decisions, but she felt that she had an obligation to look out for the good of her people.

“I’m so sorry,” she concluded. “I pine for your daughters. I really do. But war is among us. And hard decisions need to be made.”

“NO!” the woman shrieked, breaking out into a wail. She threw herself face-down to the floor, shrieking and wailing. “You can’t let my daughters die!”

Gwendolyn looked away, out to the horizon, wishing she had never met this woman. She was beginning to feel what it felt like to be a ruler; she did not like the feeling.

“I will go for them,” came a voice.

Gwen turned and saw Kendrick step forward, hand on his hilt, standing nobly, proud and unflinching.

Gwendolyn looked at her brother, touched and inspired.

“You understand that if you leave, we cannot reopen the gates for you,” she said softly. “You will die out there.”

He nodded gravely.

“What better way to die than in a service such as this?” he replied.

Gwendolyn breathed sharply, taken aback by his chivalry, his fearlessness. She loved her brother more than ever in that moment; yet she also felt profoundly sad at the thought of him on this mission.

All the other soldiers stared grimly, no one able to rebut him.

“I will join you,” Atme said, stepping forward beside Kendrick.

Kendrick nodded back at his friend.

“Thank you! Thank you!” the woman cried, rising to her knees and kissing their hands.

Gwendolyn sighed.

“Kendrick, I cannot say no to you. You lead by example, as you always have. You do our father’s name great honor to accept this mission upon yourself. You have my blessing. Go, and save these girls. I will keep these gates open for you as long as I can—up until the very last second when Andronicus attacks.”

“My lady, I admire Kendrick’s courage, and I don’t disagree with his mission,” Srog said gravely. “But I must warn that it takes time to seal the outer gates. It will not be easy to do with such short notice. You must realize that you jeopardize the entire city to agree to this mission, and to keep the gates open as long as you will.”

Gwen turned and looked out at the horizon. Somewhere out there were this woman’s daughters, sick, alone. She could not stand the thought of it.

“I thank you for your counsel, my Lord,” she said softly to Srog. “I do understand the consequences. I will not jeopardize our people. The gates will be closed when necessary.”

She turned to Kendrick.

“Go. Find these girls, and return quickly. I do not wish to close these Gates with you outside them.”

Kendrick nodded gravely, then turned and hurried down the parapet, Atme at his side.

The other men dispersed, and Gwen turned and walked by herself down a stone embankment at the far end of the parapets, so she could have some time alone, to process it all—and so she could have a better vantage point to watch Kendrick and Atme ride off. She stood there, at the very edge of the fortifications, watching them ride away into the horizon, raising a great cloud of dust.

As she stood there, feeling more alone than ever, she craved for Thor. She felt increasingly that they were facing a battle they could not win, and deep down, she felt that their only hope was Thor, the Destiny Sword, getting the shield back up. If she was going to die, she wanted to die with Thor at her side.

She closed her eyes tightly and prayed to God with all she had that Thor returned to her.

Please, God. I know I have asked you too much already. But I ask you one more thing: return Thor to me.

“God has a mysterious way of answering.”

Gwendolyn did not need to turn to recognize the voice.

She turned and saw, standing there, Argon. He stood a few feet beside her, looking out at the horizon, watching Kendrick ride off, his eyes aglow.

Her heart lifted to see him.

“I never thought I would see you again,” she said.

“Why? Because you are in a new place? Physical barriers don’t mean anything to me.”

“So then will you be here with us? During the siege?” she asked hopefully.

“I am always here with you. Sometimes not always physically.”

Gwen was burning for answers.

“Tell me,” she said, “I beg you. Is Thor safe?”

“He is now.”

“Will he be?” she pressed.

“That is always the question, isn’t it?” he asked, turning to her and smiling mysteriously. “His destiny is murky. It is set—yet it can be changed. As with all of us.”

“Will he live?” she asked. “Will I ever see him again?”

She braced herself for the answer, hoping and praying it was a yes.

“If not in this world,” Argon said slowly, “then in the next.”

Gwendolyn felt her heart sinking.

“But is not fair!” she protested. “I must see him again!”

“He chose his destiny,” Argon said. “You chose yours. Sometimes destinies cannot intertwine.”

“And what of the Empire?” Gwen asked. “Will they attack this place?”

“Yes,” he said flatly.

“Will we be victorious?”

“Victory is relative,” he answered. “There are all types of victory. The red walls of Silesia have stood for one thousand years. But even these walls are meant to fall.”

She felt an increasing sense of foreboding.

“Does that mean this city will fall?”

She had to know. But he would not answer, looking away.

“But surely there must be some way to stop them!” she said.

“You focus too much on the here and now,” Argon said. “But there are other centuries. Centuries before yours—and centuries to come. We are but a speck in the wheel of time. People will die—and people will be born. Places will fall, and others will be built. Nothing lasts forever. Not even destruction.”

Gwendolyn stood there, thinking about all he said. She wondered if that meant there was hope.

“I feel inadequate,” Gwendolyn said. “As if somehow this is all my fault. As if all of these people would benefit from a ruler greater than me.”

He turned and looked at her, his eyes searing.

“The Ring has never had a ruler greater than you,” he said. “And it may never again.”

Her heart soared and she felt a great sense of encouragement at his words. For the first time, she felt legitimate.

“Tell me,” she said, desperate to know. “How will it all end?”

Slowly, Argon shook his head.

“Sometimes before the greatest light, there comes the greatest darkness.”